


from fires to flowers.

by courage_of_stars



Series: & i promise, we will not be a tragedy. [2]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Gore, Dissociation, Established Relationship, Fluff, Guns, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Injury, Knives, M/M, Married Couple, Mental Health Issues, Murder, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Romance, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:15:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27544447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/courage_of_stars/pseuds/courage_of_stars
Summary: "What if someday I don't come back? My mind--" Nicky closes his eyes tightly. It does nothing to keep the heartache and grief at bay. "It's broken." The confession shatters Nicky's voice. "Immortality can't fix all of me. Yusuf--" The name he cherishes most cracks with a quiet sob. "I don't want both of us to drown."
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: & i promise, we will not be a tragedy. [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2021876
Comments: 12
Kudos: 130





	from fires to flowers.

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: graphic violence, gore, blood, death, guns, knives, murder, mental health, trauma, past self-harm, past suicide attempt, past child abuse, dissociation

Gunshots crackle like vicious peals of thunder. Deafening sounds reverberate with jarring dissonance. Brilliant lightning sparks from muzzle flashes. The staccato rhythm of shots fired remains uninterrupted. With instantaneous kills, there's no room for long-lasting screams. Certainly no pleas for mercy. Each time metal strikes metal, jolting rebound force fissures up Nicky's arm. Veins ignite. Muscles tense. After handling firearms for centuries, the man hardly feels it anymore.

At every enemy approaching his way, Nicky pulls the trigger. Not a single missed shot. Once out of bullets, the man hurls knives. Metal sings as silver cuts through the air. Three blades strike three men. One: between the eyes. Two: into the jugular vein. Three: through the chest. Precision and efficiency have always been Nicky's lethal forte. The man never wastes an opportunity to strike.

But there's nothing beautiful about violence.

Nicky takes no pride in smashing an enemy's skull against the cement ground. Exploding bone fragments scatter. Waves of carnage splash over empty guns, empty eyes. Glistening crimson paints brain matter. Blue and red threads float in the organic mess of viscera. The atmosphere grows nearly suffocating with a thick death shroud. Nicky swipes the corpse's only loaded gun, and fires calculated shots. Bodies fall with anti-climatic thuds.

He doesn't flinch from the blood splatter. There's already too much blood on Nicky to begin with. Stoicism holds steadfast. But repulsion crawls under the unfathomable mask. He's not fond of how spraying blood feels like warm summer rain. More of what Nicky finds pure in the world grows tarnished. It's the inevitable price paid when wading deeper into an ocean of warfare and mayhem.

Swallowing down the taste of copper, Nicky advances forward. Something acerbic singes the back of his throat. Nicky slams a roundhouse kick into a man. Immense force driving the kick causes the man to smash into a wall. Nicky follows through with a bullet in the target's head. He prefers quick and clean kills. Feeling like a ghost half the time, Nicky murders in that manner as well.

But today, a catastrophic mess is left in his wake. And there seems to be no end. With a gun shoved into a man's mouth, Nicky aims and fires. A bullet pierces through the back of the skull, and lodges into another target behind the dead body. While casting the lifeless carcass aside, Nicky throws the handheld gun. A dark blur rips through space like a malicious comet. Upon impact, the blunt object ruptures a target's eyeball.

Two men approach from his right. Nicky already has another gun in hand. He shoots one assailant. Then Nicky grabs the second man by the throat, and slams him into the ground. The brutal angle snaps the man's neck. During the downward trajectory, a knife lacerates the inside of Nicky's arm. He laughs. Almost. As if Nicky hasn't tried carving himself open in the past, during a time when he was so desperate to break immortality. A fierce line of red scorches from his shoulder to his palm.

The hunting dog keeps moving.

Guns. 

Knives.

Bare hands.

Nicky slaughters all of them.

And it's terrifying, because he's so damned good at this.

 _'The multitudinous seas incarnadine'_ rings in Nicky's ears. If only he can cling onto those words. He'll even take the requiem of this overkill massacre. Anything over the raging white noise in his mind. A static sandstorm of young, innocent screams. Crying the same chorus as the countless other children they're too late to save.

They're soldiers. Not machines.

The armor doesn't go beyond skin.

Nicky kneels on the ground, repeatedly pumping gunmetal into a body that's long stopped breathing, he doesn't know how there's summer rainfall indoors, his arm numbs from the rebound shock, the deep laceration, everything blurs, everything fades, but he still looks into the corpse's eyes, finds his own reflection to be a stranger, and sees--

* * *

\--the light dancing across red-tinted water. His skin nearly matches the blossoming clouds of vermillion. The drawn up knees are bare except for flaking blood and smeared soot. Vaguely, Nicky recalls severe abrasions on his legs. But there's nothing. Not even a scratch left behind.

He's less than a ghost.

Clouded blue eyes blink slowly. One moment, Nicky's replacing men's organs with bullets. Now, he's sitting in a bathtub full of water. The loss of wounds, the loss of time. All of it frightens and sickens him. That caustic taste thickens into honeyed poison. Crackling static dies down to a monotonous ringing. A single strident note. Everything wavers out of reach. It's as if his senses dial down to null.

Nicky is here and not here. Limbo holds the man prisoner. One of Nicky's worst fears always comes true: when he can't return to his body.

As the field of medicine develops over time, Nicky gains better understanding of these experiences. There are no demons fighting over his soul, and attempting to snatch his body as a vessel. Nicky's having a dissociative episode. The man balances precariously on the fringes of being catatonic. What bewilders Nicky most is how he's _aware_ of what's going on. He's the backseat passenger, someone else handles the wheel, and the car drives in circles. 

In quiet awe, Nicky watches something inside of him move an arm. The deep, extreme knife gash from his shoulder to his palm is gone. Just like all other wounds. Rationale calmly explains this to be the effects of immortality. Another voice screams that maybe this isn't his body.

How can this be his body when Nicky was practically born with wounds? Throughout his mortal life, Nicky rarely knew the true color of his skin. Dark indigo, angry rouge, and fading green bruises painted the boy. Nicky was not brought into this world out of love. He was never even a child. He was a commodity sold through a variety of trades. Until someone shoves a weapon into the boy's hands. Then he's called a soldier.

The first time he rises from death, Nicky sees a body void of injury. No burns. No ligature marks. No brandings. No carved words. Not even a bruise. Wounds are all Nicky ever had to call his own.

Who is he without his scars?

Nicky sits in an empty theater, watching someone else's life play on the surreal screen. Dried blood chips off skin, and dissolves in the water. Alizarin particles disperse, then darken the space around submerged fingers.

His fingers. His hands. His arms. His body.

This is his body, even when it terrifies him.

Touch is the sense that returns first. A familiar hand caresses down Nicky's shoulder. Hot water pooling in the palm pours over his skin. The callouses of that hand are memorized stars. Nicky's mind connects them to create his favorite constellations.

_Joe. Yusuf. His partner. His husband. His lover. His other half._

Following Joe's name in his mind, Nicky's thumb touches his own ring. The silver band gently beckons Nicky to return home.

Joe's hand retraces its path back up Nicky's arm, over the shoulder, then drifts towards the nape of his neck. When fingers curl into umber hair, Nicky leans into Joe's touch. The dim light in blue eyes flicker for a second. He exhales into the heart, life and head lines etched onto that palm. Something burns against Nicky's cheek. The searing dampness isn't just from bathwater.

Nicky's crying.

As the epiphany dawns on him, Nicky goes from feeling nothing to feeling everything. The emotional whiplash is violent. Even cruel. It crashes into his brittle bones like a freight train. Joe's arms wrap around Nicky as another sense returns: hearing. A sound wracked with anguish, fear and grief tear out of Nicky.

The serrating sob feels tangible and visceral. It scratches at Nicky's mouth like when captors forced him to swallow broken glass and chipped metal. Although Nicky's insides physically healed, the brutal experience lingered in his mind for months.

Back when Nicky chokes on his own blood, or now as Nicky thrashes in the water-- Joe always holds him. One by one, more of Nicky's senses return. So does the fire. The notion of Hell being after death departed Nicky like morality. Because Hell lives inside of him. It's an unforgiving, relentless Inferno.

Water splashes over the bathtub's ledge. Rosewater spills across pale square tiles. With gentle hushes, Joe murmurs words of love into Nicky's ear. Nicky buries his face into Joe's neck. The scent of gunmetal, smoke and blood have long grown tiresome. Nicky breathes Joe in deeper.

The hard edges of time blurs. Slowly, Nicky calms down. Convulsing sobs give way to staggered breathing.

"I'm sorry."

Joe almost startles. It's the first time Nicky's spoken, since bringing him here. Brown eyes soften while looking at his husband. "Nicolò, you have nothing to apologize for."

"I lost control. Went too far. Became emotionally compromised." It's like Nicky's mechanically reciting from a book. Except the team doesn't have any manual. There's no extensive document listing protocol. They only have a few simple, key rules-- like staying discreet.

There was nothing fucking discreet about Nicky slaughtering over a hundred people in that trafficking base.

"Everything's been taken care of." Kneeling by the bathtub, Joe strokes Nicky's hair. "All of us felt strongly like you."

"Andy's not mad? Or Nile?"

"Heavens no. Sweetheart--" Joe looks at his partner, even when Nicky can't meet his eyes. "They only worry about you. And trust me, they understand. Andy and Nile took care of the remaining few."

Meaning there's surely no one left alive by now. Nicky's witnessed Andy's unbridled wrath more than once. Anyone on the receiving end of it never survives. And Nicky's seen another savage storm in Nile. She's a force to be reckoned with as well.

Nicky still doesn't lift his gaze from Joe's shoulder. "You're not mad?"

Joe cradles Nicky's face in his hands. "Never. I love you." He presses their lips together. It's a light kiss, but still full of devotion. "I love you so much, dear." Joe kisses his partner again.

Heart sighing, Nicky deepens the kiss. "Love you too." The whisper's softer than water dripping from his fingertips.

As quiet settles in the bathroom, Joe resumes washing blood off his partner. Nicky exhales with no glass to spit out this time. Joe's touch never burns. It only soothes. Nicky's eyes drifts towards his husband. Finally, his mind registers that Joe's painted in crimson as well. Most of the blood's dried by now.

Nicky reaches a hand out of the water, and tugs on Joe's sleeve. His gaze flickers up. Tired blues seek out beloved warm browns. "Join me?"

Joe blinks. "With my clothes on?"

The genuinely puzzled question earns a smile from Nicky. "No, silly." When Nicky tugs on Joe's sleeve again, there's a bit of playfulness. "Off. All of it."

Laughing softly, Joe returns the smile. He leans in to give Nicky a kiss. After stripping off the bloodstained clothes, Joe sinks into the bathtub. Nicky sits between Joe's legs, and leans back against the man's front. Nicky's vertebrae feels the rhythm of Joe's heartbeat. Gently, Joe presses a kiss onto his husband's shoulder. Water ripples around their bodies. Nicky helps wash the blood off Joe, and gives light kisses along the way.

Earlier, these calloused hands handled firearms and blades with fatal intent. Now, they move with tenderness that shakes Joe's heart. Anyone outside of their team will see a feral hunting dog when Nicky falls into bloodthirst. And perhaps they'll see a lost cause when Nicky's mind abandons his body.

But Joe sees a man this world does not deserve. There is compassion of infinite depths in Nicky. And there's goodness fighting everyday to stay resilient. The world is cruel to many. It challenges people to rebuild themselves in order to survive. Often in ways where hearts stitch back together warped, or get thrown away all together.

And yet, Nicky always chooses to be kind.

He goes to great lengths to find Andy's favorite treats, and even learns to create them for her. He stays up with Nile on nights when she can't sleep, and gives her much reason to laugh while teaching Nicky video games. Although Booker is still a deep wound in them all-- Nicky leaves coded messages for the man to find. Lines of poetry. Music notes spelling out a melody. Simple reminders like, _'Drink water. Alcohol is not an adequate substitute.'_

To Joe, Nicky has given a respite of peace, and a lifetime of love. Everyone believes Joe is the romantic poet in the couple. But if only they knew how Nicky hides scraps of folded paper in Joe's pockets, carrying words that make Joe smile and tear up at the same time. Since learning how to text, Nicky leaves heartfelt messages for his husband to read. Nicky surprises Joe with spontaneous trips to the oldest bookstore in town. And holds him at night when terrors grip Joe's sleep.

It doesn't matter what damage Joe takes when prying Nicky off carcasses. Or how many hours he sits beside Nicky in silence. Joe loves this man. He will not leave Nicky's side whether the battle is against other armed men, or against Nicky's own mind. 

Joe kisses the back of his husband's neck. Lips trail down the curve of Nicky's throat, then burn across the shoulder. Strong, honed arms wrap around Nicky. The protective embrace causes Nicky to melt. He buries his face into Joe's neck.

Against his favorite pulse, Nicky murmurs, "Does it still hurt?"

Joe shakes his head. "It's healed."

The memory replays vividly in Nicky's mind: a bullet grazing the side of Joe's throat, spewing an arc of brilliant red.

Another memory flashes by: Nicky shooting the one responsible for hurting his partner.

Joe's done the same for him. Just as how they'll do the same for their team.

Nicky presses his lips over the peak of that phantom injury. "I love you." And he goes on to say those words in a dozen languages.

"Love you, too." Joe's voice brushes across his partner's knuckles. "All I have for you is love." His lips touch the ring on Nicky's left hand.

Nicky watches Joe seal a promise into the silver band. It still overwhelms the couple how they finally have matching rings. Joe proudly holds Nicky's hand while walking in open streets. Or rests his hand over Nicky's while sitting at a cafe. Sometimes, strangers' eyes soften when glancing their way. There's silent congratulations and warm wishes in those kind gazes. In those moments, Nicky almost tears up.

The world can be devastatingly ugly, cruel, and unkind.

But it can also be so beautiful. There is joy over the horizon. Something ridiculously stubborn in Nicky and Joe still believe in that.

Leaning in, Nicky catches Joe's lips in a kiss. When their lips part, the kiss breaks softly. Nicky breathes in. Breathes out. He watches the water's surface. It appears calm. But faint motions send ambient ripples. Disrupting the stillness. Just when it feels like the storm has passed, another harrowing hurricane crashes in.

"What if-" Everything inside of Nicky trembles. It's so exhausting to share this body with terror. "What if someday I don't come back? My mind--" Nicky closes his eyes tightly. It does nothing to keep the heartache and grief at bay. "It's broken." The confession shatters Nicky's voice. "Immortality can't fix all of me. Yusuf--" The name he cherishes most cracks with a quiet sob. "I don't want both of us to drown."

These words slice at the inside of his cheeks, and across his tongue. Cutting deeper than the all the glass and metal he's chewed on. An apology tumbles around with the coagulating sadness and fear. This is a conversation they've had a million times. And every time, Nicky loathes breaking his husband's heart. This may not be death of the body. But death of the mind is just as terrifying. It's not fair that Joe has to mourn Nicky while he's still alive.

Yes, Joe's heart is breaking. But something stronger, something fiercer floods through the cracks. Joe turns Nicky's face towards him.

 _"You are not broken."_ Each word carries all of Joe's heart. And soul. And anything good about himself that Joe has left to give. "My love, I can't imagine the pain and fear you're going through. But we will find a way to work through this. Just as we have for centuries. And Nicolò--" Joe's exhale wavers. Not with fear. But with joy. The man smiles brilliantly. "Can I ask you something?"

After a moment of hesitation, Nicky nods.

"How many fires have I pulled you out of?"

"Quite a lot." Brows knitting together, Nicky tries to do the math. "It's been a little difficult to keep count."

"And how many flowers have you given me?"

Bright scarlet sweeps over Nicky's startled expression. Flustered, Nicky tries to hide the rising blush. "...not nearly as much as you deserve."

Shaking his head, Joe laughs warmly. Endearment brings the sienna flecks out of his eyes. "And darling, this is why we are not going to drown." His hand rests on the side of Nicky's face. "From fires to flowers, we love each other. Infinitely." The burning light in Joe's eyes rivals that of a thousand suns. Hope rages ferociously. "Even with all these storms, I will always choose you. And I promise, we will not be a tragedy. Our love is too strong, too beautiful for that." Joe kisses Nicky's forehead. The corner of an eye. A cheek. Then his lips. "You've given me over a million flowers. And yes-- I've been counting."

Nicky can hardly breathe when he's crying so hard. It's the kind of crying that falls near silent. Joe should've asked how many speeches he's given. How many times his words catch Nicky from falling off the edge. And how many times these confessions overwhelm Nicky with unconditional love.

Water splashes as Nicky surges in for a kiss. Joe meets him halfway. Their lips collide like neutron stars, overflowing their bodies with the magnificent light of a kilonova explosion. As Joe kisses with unrelenting adoration, Nicky's reminded of the flowers that grow after forest fires. And how there is more to their bodies than invisible scars, haggard albatrosses, and shipyard wrecks. May they learn to stay soft. And not forget the sound of their own names. They are not ghosts. They are here, they are in love, and they are alive.

Nicky holds his lover's face in his hands. Joe's fingers tighten in golden brown strands. Cradling the back of Nicky's head, Joe silently tells his lover's weary mind, _'You can rest. I will keep you company.'_ Gasps, sobs, and laughter muffle between mouths that are eager to give devotion. At the corners of their lips, they taste salt from tears. But still, they smile.

When the kiss breaks, Nicky rests his forehead against Joe's. His smile doesn't fade. "Do you want more flowers?"

Joe's laugh fills the air. It welcomes warmth and light into the once cold bathroom. He brushes Nicky's bangs back, so he can see those soft blues. "That would be lovely."

Nicky's smile grows at the answer. After sharing one more kiss, they settle into a comfortable embrace. Nicky and Joe bask in the bathtub's warmth for a little longer. A silent conversation is whispered with fond eyes and worshipping hands. The quiet doesn't last when Joe discovers new ways of making Nicky laugh.

Eventually, they rinse and wash off. Nicky tries not to focus on the traces of violence leaving his body. Or how even after scrubbing himself raw, his mind may still drench him in crimson.

Instead Nicky focuses on taking care of his partner. As Nicky towels off Joe's hair, his hands fall still. The damp fabric slides off, and pools around strong, broad shoulders. Foreheads touch. Eyes fall close.

With the humming air vents, and their steady breathing, they savor this moment. 

* * *

Soft piano notes trickle into the kitchen. The melody carries the quiet heartfelt signature of a Dustin O'Halloran album. A smile tugs at Nicky's mouth. It's not surprising how his husband knows exactly what music Nicky craves to hear. Fingertips play invisible keys on the counter. Nicky follows the notes like second nature.

Maybe in a different lifetime, Nicky would touch piano keys more often. And Joe would have a violin to cherish. They can play in a room with windows looking out into a garden. Flowers blooming with vibrant colors will greet the open skies. They'll be nurtured to life with plenty of sunlight and love.

Nicky's smile grows when Joe leans against him from behind. Their cheeks brush. Strong arms circle around Nicky's waist. Humming softly, Nicky leans back against his partner. Joe runs a hand down Nicky's side. His palm brushes over the soft gray fabric. The henley shirt actually belongs to Joe.

"You ever get tired of me stealing your clothes?" Playfulness flickers in Nicky's eyes.

"Never." Joe kisses the dimple he missed seeing. "After all, darling-- you already stole my heart."

Flustered beyond measure, Nicky leans over the counter, and hides his face in his arms. Nicky's groan dissolves into a delighted exhale. Joe laughs against his partner's shoulder. It's certainly not the first time Joe's said those words. Nicky's just as endeared now as he was aeons ago. Scarlet refuses to leave his face. The blush only darkens as Joe showers Nicky with affection. Scintillated blues reunite with warm browns.

"So, we've got this safe house to ourselves?" Nicky stands up. Leaning against Joe, Nicky gives his shoulder a light kiss.

"Andy and Nile are resting in another location." Amusement runs in Joe's chuckle. "Or rather, Nile is taking Andy on another adventure."

Nicky grins wryly. It's uplifting to see what good influence Andy and Nile have been on each other. He also knows they likely wanted to give Nicky and Joe space, so Nicky has time to recover. Nicky still feels a little shaken. But everything doesn't feel as far-off anymore.

"Let me cook for you, love." Nicky gives his husband another kiss on the cheek. He rolls up the gray sleeves. "I'll make your favorite."

Turning his head, Joe kisses Nicky full on the lips. "How about we cook together?"

Nicky quirks a brow. "Are you actually going to cook, or be a distraction?" There's a hint of a teasing grin.

Smiling, Joe rests a hand on his partner's waist. "What makes you think I can't do both?"

With light music playing in the background, they move through the kitchen. Their words dance through different languages. Gestures of affection gently punctuate their remarks. A hand on the small of Nicky's back. A kiss along Joe's neck.

While Joe stands at the counter, Nicky embraces him from behind. He whispers hushed words into his husband's ear. Joe lets out a warm, bright laugh. For the rest of his life, Nicky wants to follow that sound. And seek all the ways of drawing it out.

This is his hand reaching for Joe's. These are his lips kissing the silver ring. And this is his body leaning against the man he loves most. Nicky's body may be terrifying at times. But it's his home. Nicky has to trust that no matter how far his mind wanders off, he'll find his way back. Even when returning to a body with an Inferno waiting, Nicky will walk through that fire. Because there's still so much joy to be discovered on the other side.

This is his heart beating under Joe's palm. And today, his heart is unafraid of being alive.

Nicky and Joe gravitate closer to each other. Three words fill the space between them. And softly, they whisper names engraved on the inside of their rings.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! ♡ I was so moved by the response to [oblivion.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27009097) Your warm welcome and support gave me so much joy. I have such deep, profound love writing for Nicky and Joe. So, I'm happy to share more stories with you all here :)
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this piece. Kudos, comments, and such are always loved. Once again, thank you! Take care, and stay safe ♡♡♡
> 
> REFERENCES / INSPIRATION:  
> \-- ['Opus 23' - Dustin O'Halloran](https://youtu.be/fPdpFR2V7mw)


End file.
